


Birdbrains

by primeideal



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-14
Updated: 2013-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-04 13:59:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primeideal/pseuds/primeideal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even after dropping out of school, Laigle still finds time to fill his day, and friends to share it with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birdbrains

**Author's Note:**

  * For [write_away](https://archiveofourown.org/users/write_away/gifts).



> For theirdarkreturning, who wanted something about Joly, Bossuet, and Grantaire's friendship, noting that Joly is the youngest of the three. Thanks so much to doeskin-pantaloons for betaing!

There were many advantages, thought Laigle, to having dropped out of law school.

There were no longer any professors to be concerned about: they were buried under the weight of a passing history. His books were no longer a burden. And, perhaps best of all, there were no longer any classes to concern himself with. Which left plenty of time for studying the city, watching people come and go, and drinking in all of Paris had to offer. Sometimes literally.

“I say,” he mused, “in your professional opinion, at what point in the morning is it late enough to start drinking?”

Joly thought things over. “Ten o'clock.”

Laigle reckoned it was not quite nine, though the stopped clock on the mantlepiece made any certainty difficult. “I shall have to ask for a second opinion.”

“Good luck finding one within the hour. After that, your sources may be biased.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“I would hate for you to waste all your luck in a doomed cause.”

“No cause is doomed that will end in a conversation with a friend, and perhaps some wine later.”

“Well, then. Let us commence!”

Half an hour later, Laigle's quest bore fruit, as he ran into Grantaire, who had been squinting up at some of the buildings. A row of windows all hung open at the same angle, while the letters advertising theaters and liquors buckled under his distorted vision from below. But quickly, he focused on the arriving Laigle. “Ah, good evening!”

“It shall be, I hope!” Laigle replied. “But I have seen no reason to plan that far ahead, as of yet.”

“Oh. It's morning. Well, much the same. Are you not in school?”

“I am not! And good riddance. Blondeau is dead to me, and so much the better for us both!”

“Very good. Perhaps your next revolution should begin with overthrowing the remains of the faculty. It might be an achievable target. I would hate to see you come to grief.”

“You missed it,” said Joly. “Courfeyrac's friend, Pontmercy, reports that our Bossuet eulogized Blondeau. It was quite moving.”

“Ah, there's enough bluster spoken about the dead who are properly buried,” said Grantaire. “I haven't the time for listening to orations for those still walking about.”

“Oh, and you,” Joly retorted, “is your school in session today?”

“Is yours?” Grantaire replied.

“That's a fair point,” admitted Joly.

Laigle addressed Grantaire. “I suppose you are right. You should have been there for the oration. I'll just have to repeat my performance for you...and tell the full story of his life.”

“Oh, do,” said Grantaire. “Here lies Professor So-And-So. Possessed to go into the law, for some reason...”

“Hardly a friend of the ABC,” Laigle went on, “but rather fond of P, Q, R, and then back around to L again for no apparent reason.”

“Are his lectures that disorganized?” Joly asked.

“It's hardly the lectures that are—were!—the problem, but rather the calling of the roll,” Bossuet said. “Let me explain.”

And he launched into the account of his departure from law school, Grantaire giving an approving smile once the retelling was complete. “Well done indeed,” he nodded.

“Yes, very,” said Joly, “but Laigle, didn't I warn you? You've missed your chance.”

“My chance for what? To become an attorney? By no means, there was nothing of interest there. If I knew I was skillful enough to avoid it I would have accomplished this years ago, I am not so prodigious as you—but I thought such feats of evasion were only for the Bahorels among us.”

“No. Well, yes, but I meant, your chance to ask Grantaire for a second opinion. You spent so long telling that story, it's already gone ten o'clock!”

“Don't ask me for a second opinion,” said Grantaire, “I am not sure whether I have one. Perhaps I'll have overheard a third, or a fourth, but people with opinions hardly go far. The good doctor here is learned, he can advise you.”

“You have the benefit of age, my good sir.”

“Fie on age! What good has it done for this Bossuet! Bossuet, our bald old man, delivering funeral orations.”

“I have been awake for two entire hours,” said Bossuet, “that is a lot of life to see, proportionally. Come, now, to business. When is it early enough to drink wine? Already? Or perhaps it was, earlier in the day?”

“ _Early_ enough to drink wine?” Grantaire asked. “I should say, it's plenty _late_.”

“Capital R, have you been awake all night?”

“I suppose. I may have been dreaming. Pretty women, brave men, a changing world, a pile of rubbish...none of it stays put when I attempt to touch it. But I do not think I have been sleeping on the streets. If this were my home, why, I'd offer you a spare bed, now that you're out of school.”

Joly looked over at Laigle. “Perhaps it is, indeed, not the time for wine. Shall we help you home?”

“Ah, it's your day off, go have a drink. As for me, my nights are always wide open, I can sleep away the day.”

Joly and Laigle exchanged silent glances, then began steering Grantaire along the street. “Never mind me,” he protested, as they walked along, “there aren't any good bars here at all. Unless you've found a cheap one. Perhaps on your budget, it would be worth going out of your way. But no matter...”

He clambered up the stairs to Joly's apartment with some difficulty, Laigle spotting from behind, before collapsing onto the low bed. “Come along,” Joly called, “let's rotate him.”

“Whatever for? The magnetism won't do him much good at this point, I should think.”

“It won't,” Joly agreed, nudging Grantaire aside. “But some sleep will, and the more the better.” He nodded at a small window, shades drawn. “At the opportune angle, the sunlight won't hit him in the eye and wake him.”

“Ah, you do think of everything.”

“It's more curse than blessing sometimes.”

“Well. Shall we drink?”

Joly squinted down at Grantaire's prone form. “Maybe not today.”

“I'm fine staying here.”

“You can quiz me.” Joly reached above the fireplace for a sheaf of notes, leaning against a broken clock that Laigle had never been able to repair. (“Well it's right twice a day,” Laigle eventually conceded. “Which,” Joly pointed out, “is more often than the government.”)

“By no means!” said Laigle. “I've had enough of studying.”

“I'm the student! You, oh aged one, are the professor here.”

“I'd rather be dead, and so, I think, would plenty of the professors...who _wrote_ this?”

“The review sessions? I made Musichetta come up with some examples. She's gotten carried away in her tales of disease and misery, the poor dear.”

Laigle skimmed the text. “I should say! Well, in that case, I'll quiz you, she shouldn't have to put up with your sick notes.”

“Excellent,” Joly grinned, “let us begin.”

Joly, it turned out, had a fine memory for diseases, but had to revisit the diagrams of healthy bodies to relearn the positioning of internal organs. Bones and muscles with their bilateral symmetry were all well and good, but the nuances of the heart and liver required more detailed analysis. And so, much of his “off day” passed in study, which neither minded. It would potentially leave Joly more time to carouse after a full day of classes, and for Laigle's part, it felt good to fill the day being able to help out his friend. It was almost enough to make him sympathize with the teachers he'd known.

Almost. But not quite.

Towards evening, Grantaire stirred. “Are you well?” Joly asked.

“On balance,” he said, clambering out of bed.

“Any dreams to speak of?” Laigle asked. “They can be vivid, one's first night in a new bed. Or day. Especially day.”

“You'd know,” Joly conceded, “though there may be some mineral deficiencies at work.”

“The death of princes,” Grantaire said, “gored by lions, devoured by carrion. Truly, a religious experience, I shall be joining you at your temples of revolution posthaste.”

“Is that so?” said Laigle.

“Obviously not.”

“Thank goodness, I was afraid I'd become intoxicated on forgettable alcohol that was probably not worth whatever I'd foolishly paid for it.”

“It was really about a chicken and a male dog. No, I lie, it was the other way around, though this way is the sanitized version. It instilled in me a great love, indeed, for the peculiar comforts of this bed. Shall I pass out again, Bossuet has the right and the obligation to sanitize the account as much as necessary for whatever delicate audience is around to hear it.”

“With my luck, you'll come to just in time to correct me.”

“Come now, my revered elders, shall we have a stroll?” Joly asked.

“I'm nobody's revered elder, especially not with you waving that cane around,” said Grantaire.

“Oh, very good, I'm glad one of us at least is sober enough to walk around under his own power.”

Grantaire sniffed the air, looking at the abandoned notes. “How, exactly, did you entertain yourselves during my slumber?”

“Studying, insomuch as that counts as 'entertainment'.” Laigle sighed. “Even outside of school, I can't escape school.”

“Well, then. You ought to get out in the fresh air—all the way to the nearest bar, anyway.”

“Maybe—not tonight. I'd been hoping to take in some boxing, as it were. Perhaps you can recommend a good bout?”

“I can lead you to half a dozen! But there's better bargains on getting drunk.”

“Don't let him get too drunk during the fight,” Joly groaned. “He needs someone with expertise to explain what's going on—”

“I resent that remark—” Laigle cut in, seeing Grantaire look dubious.

“—could _appreciate_ someone who understands better than me.”

“Impressed as I am about how you've memorized the names of all the muscles being overworked, yes, Capital R here could probably provide more helpful commentary.”

Grantaire blushed. “If you say so.”

“Come on, then!” Joly grabbed his cane and waved it around, conducting the other two to the door. “Doctor's orders.”

**Author's Note:**

> About the allusions here; so, the online Hapgood translation mentions the phrase "funeral oration" several times. Once in the chapter title where Bossuet proclaims "Death to Blondeau," once much later on when Grantaire cites that scene...and once much earlier, in the Champmathieu trial, where we learn "Benigne Bossuet himself [i.e. our Bossuet's namesake] was obliged to allude to a chicken in the midst of a funeral oration." I looked it up, and it's referring to a princess named Anne, who had a dream involving a (male) dog and a chicken that brought on a religious awakening. Bossuet had to preach at her funeral, but didn't want to specifically mention chickens in the pulpit, because he thought it would be unseemly! I'm sure this ties into Hugo's love of bird puns, but someone else can do the research.
> 
> In another famous funeral sermon, Bossuet mentioned the story of King David, who described his captains as "faster than eagles and braver than lions," and then went on to say something about princes. So, while chickens might have been kind of lowly, eagles were Napoleonic and therefore cool.


End file.
